Broken Doll
by firstwivesclub
Summary: "I can physically see her becoming overwhelmed with guilt, the pained expression outlined so well on her marred face."


They can barely touch my patchwork of burned skin, so I alone rinse and dry my body. I tell them I hardly notice the pain anymore, but Flavius still winces as he drapes the robe around me. As I enter the bedroom, a stranger is sitting upright in a chair.

Seeing me enter, she quickly rises to her feet, rushes over to hug me, and gives me a delicate kiss on my charred cheek. I can feel her smiling as she tightly hugs me. I conclude that she must be another stylist who's happy this war is finally over.

"Hi," I finally say. She doesn't answer me, but her hug becomes firmer as if she was afraid to let go. I can feel tears sliding down her face and onto mine.

When she finally releases me, I get a good look at her.

She's a rather tall woman with porcelain pale skin, except for a large purple bruise covering most of her left cheek, not to mention a jagged scar that runs down her forehead and well over her eye . I wonder what happened that gave her that awful mark; what horrors she's endured throughout all of this mess. When I meet her soft blue eyes, they begin to fill with tears as she rapidly glances me up and down. There's just something so familiar about them, something that makes me think I could have known her before.

I come to the conclusion that this battered woman is probably some poor soul from the Capitol who managed to survive Snow's rage and Coin's warfare. "It's okay," I try telling her. "You're safe now." This just seems to make her feel worse. Her tears keep coming. Great. She goes in for another hug, and this time I remain still.

After a few minutes, she calms herself down and ushers me over to a chair where she begins combing my hair. As she begins braiding the strands, I can see her eyes go to another place, that vacant look you can only get from true human suffering.

I watch her long, scraped fingers work the threads of my hair into one single braid down the side of my head. He long sleeve slips further down and I can just catch a glimpse of the white bandage wrapping her forearm. Blood marring the stark white as it seeps from beneath. I again wonder what torture she has endured. When she reaches the end of my hair, she motions for me hold the ends together while she retrieves a clip from the table.

I watch as her eyes meticulously scan the assortment of clips and hair trinkets. She seems distressed with the options given to her. "Anything is fine...really," I say. She just shakes her head and continues searching as if this was her only mission in life. I can feel her panic rise as she searches more frantically. Finally, she finds the perfect piece, or so I assume, and she gently smiles.

Picking up the clip as if it were a fragile flower, she walks over to me and places it in my hair. It's a golden mockingjay. She backs away, allowing me to inspect her masterpiece.

She was no Octavia, but she managed to conceal my missing patches of hair. In fact, she made me look just like...me. This was no eccentric Capitol, over-the-top hairdo, but rather, a delicate tribute to the way my mother and Prim would fix my hair back in District 12.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

I can't help but wonder how she knew, but I figured it was probably just a coincidence.

I watch her back away in the mirror and take a seat. I can't help but notice how much she looks like a broken doll.

I turned to her. "I really love it. This is how my sister, Pri-I mean how she used to...". I hold my breath. I can't say her name aloud. This pain is still all too real. "This is how she¬ would braid my hair...for the reapings."

I can physically see her becoming overwhelmed with guilt, the pained expression outlined so well on her marred face. Her memories rushing emotion back to the surface. Tears begin consuming her eyes once again.

I walk over to her and kneel by her chair. "It's okay. Shh...It's alright. Don't worry, it's over. I promise that I won't let anything happen to you...that they will never hurt you again. " She looks down at my face and manages a slight half smile. While I'm still crouched by her chair she slowly reaches down and pulls out a necklace that was previously concealed by her jacket. Shock hits me then and I do nothing to cover the gasp that escapes my mouth.

It is unmistakably the one Effie Trinket gave to Peeta before the Quarter Quell. She carefully cradles the pendant into my waiting hands and gestures for me to open it.

Using shaky fingers I open the first side of the locket and am greeted with a hungover Haymitch attempting a half smile. I chance a glance up at the woman and her teeth are digging into her lips trying to subdue the onslaught of fresh tears. The second side contains a photograph of Peeta genuinely grinning from ear to ear.

This knocks the air from my lungs, and I grab her hand trying desperately to anchor myself to something real. My own tears begin streaming down my face.

This couldn't be...she couldn't be...When I looked in the middle of the locket, there was a photograph of me, only I wasn't smiling like the others. It was from the day I volunteered as tribute for Prim after I had taken the stage. I cover my mouth and tried not to cry, but it is no use because the tears kept falling.

I'm a little bit startled when I feel her gentle hand pat my back.

She lifts the locket from my hands, removes my picture, and flips it to the backside. On it, elegantly drawn in Effie Trinket's beautiful handwriting are three words: We're a Team. "Effie," I whisper.

I look up at her and we both smile. That's when it finally hits me. No wonder I didn't recognize her. Effie's voice is wracked with sobs as she manages her first words to me since the rebellion began. "Hello, Katniss . It looks like we've got another big, big, big day ahead of us."

I surge forward and crush my arms around her fragile frame in a tight hug. This display of emotion I'm exhibiting surprises even me but I'm so relieved that Effie Trinket is alive and in front of me I can't even begin to care. For a few moments, we sit and cry, just happy to be reunited again.

I wondered what she had been through and how she survived. After all, Effie had only ever known the Capitol life of the plenty. She had never experienced starvation or torture. Not to mention the fact that she didn't have an ounce of makeup on and was wearing a green skirt and jacket. Effie clears her throat, gets up, and helps me to my feet.

Hugging me, I can feel her smile on my cheek as she softly sings in my ear, "My victor. The one who saved us all"


End file.
